oil painting

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Sorry about the very long delay since the last post. That’s for two reasons:
  • I’ve been very busy with work, helping to raise a three year old, and  taking an online graduate course.
  • I’ve been finishing up the large commission I started over the summer, and I have allowed that to kind of block my ability to do other painting. That’s just about done, however, so it’s time to move on.

I had a whole day off today, so I took the opportunity to start a new painting.

Layover

This is “Layover.” It’s 20 × 20”, oil on linen primed with lead white, toned with red earth and raw umber. This is a monochromatic underpainting—a grisaille—which will be glazed over once it’s dry. I used various mixtures of Doak’s flake 1c and Natural Pigments black earth (an iron oxide black).

The key is a little too dark for optimal glazing (since glazes tends to darken what they cover). That means I’ll need to paint into the glaze with white to get the lights up.

I’ll keep you posted on this, and I’ll try not to let such a long time pass before putting up other stuff. Unfortunately, posting will probably be intermittent for the foreseeable future.

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Here’s a picture of what I’m working on. It’s oil on canvas, a little over five feet tall, so it stretches the limits of what I can put on my tripod easel. The picture is pretty awful, because it’s hard to photograph an oil painting this size without a lot of glare.

New JeansThis is a commissioned piece. The customer wants a painting of this pair of jeans (supplied by him) against a black background. We went back and forth on the composition, eventually settling on making it look as if they were being worn by an invisible person. That entailed hiring a model to wear the jeans as I paint, since I’m pretty bad at working from photos.

As you can see, I’m working my way down. I mixed and tubed a base color and applied that as an initial dead coloring layer. I am working on top of that. Right now, the jeans are hung in midair so that I can paint the inside parts. The customer wanted to capture the iconic nature of Levis 501’s, so the inside tags—especially the one that will have a bright red 501 on it—are important.

I’ll try to post better pictures later on.

I like how it’s coming at the moment. In some ways this is an interesting and exciting project, and in others it will be really good to get this done, as it also represents a block on my other work.

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So lately I’ve been stretching and priming a large (5 × 3.5 feet) linen canvas, along with a couple of smaller ones. A few observations (learned in part from having to correct mistakes):
  • The easiest way to stretch a large canvas evenly seems to be to put it on the stretcher unprimed, somewhat loosely. How loose? Put the canvas on the floor flat under the stretcher. Tack the edges of the canvas to the back of the stretcher without pulling. You then size it with a thin layer of hide glue. The glue tightens the canvas. If you do it right, the canvas is taut with no wrinkles. This is easier than trying to get it right using canvas pliers and trying to make the tension even across the whole canvas.
  • I like using regular office thumb tacks initially, followed by staples or copper tacks when you know you’ve got the tension exactly right.
  • The lead oil primer made by Natural Pigments is very easy to apply. It is much less viscous than other oil primers I’ve tried. That means you don’t have to thin it and it’s less likely to get all over the place. It dries to the touch very fast. A potential downside is that it doesn’t tend to fill the weave of the canvas like thicker primers do.
  • It’s good practice to rub the surface of the canvas lightly with a pumice stone before sizing in order to open the fibers up somewhat to accept the glue. If you do this, however, you will create small blobs of fabric in places. After priming, you’ll need to wet sand or use a knife to cut these away.
  • Upper Canada Stretchers makes really good stretchers. Check out the discounts for good deals.
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Tad Spurgeon has an excellent summary article on his views regarding sound oil painting practice.

Because the structure of an oil painting is inherently complex, it’s always best to attempt keep both it and its various components as simple as possible. However, this element of simplicity should not necessarily extend to purchasing ready-made materials if the hope or expectation is to create higher quality work: generic materials have a strong tendency to produce generic work. While boutique materials are usually higher quality, this is not necessarily the case with the oil. And they still don’t impart the vital information about the nuts and bolts of the craft: at the end of the day, there is no real process, just a set of purchases, a pseudo-craft.

Go read the whole thing.

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Sometimes, you need the highest value highlight that it is possible to get in paint. Other times, you need a dark accent that is as low in value as you can get. Beecause paint doesn’t have anything like the dynamic range of human vision, it’s good in realistic painting to have as wide as range as you can. Small differences can sometimes be important.

The whitest white I’ve been able to find is “radiant white” by Gamblin. It’s titanium white in poppy oil. Most of the time I prefer paints ground in linseed or walnut, but for this purpose it makes sense to use the whitest possible pigment and the most colorless binder available. I’m still painting out test strips on a neutral gray background, but I’d guess it’s a quarter Munsell value step than the next brightest titanium white I’ve played with. I’ll use it only when I need a very light highlight.

The darkest black I have is Williamsburg intense black. The pigment is listed as “carbon from gas flame.” The back label says: “warning: very slow drying.” It is just noticeably darker than bone (“ivory”) black. The slow drying can be compensated for somewhat with a drier such as lead napthenate. I will use it only for dark accents at the very last stage of painting, so drying time for this particular paint is not that important for me.

Update

2 May 2009:_ There’s a small highlight that I had previously painted in Old Holland titanium white. It’s light reflected from the shiny metal part of a clothes hangar. In real life this highlight is very noticeable, but on the painting, surrounded by relatively light tones, it did not stand out at all. I recently painted it in using pure Gamblin radiant white. It is noticeably brighter than before—giving an effect that is much more like what I was trying to depict.

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I struggled quite a bit with this one. That’s largely because of the very strong value contrasts, the large areas of subtle darks, and because it’s not easy getting the right chroma in that hue of red in the lights. The painting looks good in fairly bright light, but flattens out in dimmer light.

“Red Laces,” oil on canvas, 11 × 14”.

Red Laces

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Here’s a recent painting; I thought I might provide some detail on how it was made.

This is “Newbury Street,” oil on panel, 20 × 20”. Many artists shy away from the square picture format, because it can be hard to achieve a dynamic composition within such a stable frame. I worked on overcoming that within a simple “bullseye” composition with a bit of tension between the jacket and its shadow. I think I succeeded fairly well with that.

The panel, which I had primed with lead white, had been curing for more than six months. Different sources suggest different amounts of time to let an oil ground cure; anywhere from a couple of weeks to several months. I can say that this well-cured surface was excellent to work on.

Click on a thumbnail to see the full-sized image.

I started with an underpainting using a mixture of raw umber mixed with a small amount of Studio Products Tuscan red (a bright iron oxide pigment). Unusually for me, I used the wipeout technique for the underpainting. I did that by smearing on a bunch of thinned paint in any given area, then wiping it back. I used a mixture of mineral spirits and linseed oil, with a bit of turps. Then I used a bristle bright brush to wipe the paint back. A bright is good for this because the short bristles allow for easy scrubbing. The idea is to wipe the paint away, letting the white ground show through in the lights and letting the paint stay thick in the darks.

Normally, I avoid the wipe out technique because I don’t think that thinning paint down a lot is a good idea—it can generate a paint layer that is not properly bound in the oil vehicle. However, because the oil primed surface was smooth and not absorbent, I found that I only needed to thin the paint down just a bit in order to use the wipe out method effectively. It allowed me to easily get the structure of the painting down quickly and easily, and to correct errors easily using a rag dipped in thinner. Because there was some linseed oil in the thinner, the final result was a surface that was clearly well-bound, as I could not easily scratch it with a fingernail or rub any pigment off.

Once that was dry (within a day, due to the siccative properties of the raw umber), I painted in the background and shadow. That took a few days to dry. Then I applied a very thin layer of Studio Products glazing medium to the surface of the painting and began working my way over the painting, attempting to paint something close to the final effect in each area before moving on to the next. That took several painting sessions.

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I used to think that lead white dries quickly in oil and promotes drying when it is a component of mixtures. It’s true that lead white dries faster than titanium white, which is a slow drier, but it is really just normal in overall drying speed.

This has been illustrated for me this week. The background of the painting I’m working on is a gradation of mostly lead white to lead white with a fair bit of raw umber. Raw umber dries quickly and promotes drying when it is a component of any mixture. Over the course of several days, I’ve observed the painting dry progressively from one edge to the other—the more raw umber, the faster the drying. The lead white part of the painting has not dried quickly at all.

Modern lead whites are made with a pigment called “basic lead carbonate.” Historically, lead whites were less pure. They contained basic lead carbonate, as well as other lead compounds that do dry fairly quickly. So older lead whites, such as those made using the traditional stack process, would likely act as driers. It may be that if you bought some stack process lead white from Natural Pigments and mulled it with oil, you’d have a fast drying white.

Other than that, you can make lead white dry more quickly by adding a small amount of lead napthenate or other drier, just as with any other oil paint. Or you can mix in some umber.

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This is done. I changed the name from “Two Dresses” to “The Other Woman.” It just seemed to need a more evocative title. Oil on panel, 24 × 18”.

"The Other Woman," oil on panel, 24 x 18" You might also be interested in these posts

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If you haven’t run across it already, I’d suggest you take a look at this demonstration of the “form painting” method by Tony Ryder. It’s pretty close to the procedure I learned from Dennis Cheaney. Dennis and Tony are both students of Ted Seth Jacobs. (I should be clear that I have no connection to Tony Ryder whatsoever, and I have only met Ted Seth Jacobs once.)

The method proceeds through several stages.

Poster Study

This is a small painting (5 × 7” or so) done quickly, to develop an overall sense of what the final composition will look like. It is painted entirely in big blobs of color, with no detail and no gradations (i.e., no blending). Each blob represents the overall average color of a big shape, such as the hair of the subject of a portrait. It’s best to do a lot of squinting while completing a poster study. Poster studies never look good enough to display as separate works of art, as studies by some artists do. If it looks that good, you didn’t do it right.

The poster study allows you to solve a lot of painting problems beforehand. You quickly come to understand your composition in a way that thumbnail sketches do not allow. You see color harmonies evolve and figure out how you are going to mix most of the colors you will need. Lots of mistakes can be caught in this manner before you ever touch the final painting. Once you start, the poster study becomes a reference to refer to as the final painting progresses.

Underdrawing

The next stage is drawing the forms on the canvas (which is white, not toned). Tony does this in vine charcoal, then inks in the underdrawing in diluted paint. Dennis sometimes also had us do this in dilute paint from the start. The idea behind the drawing is to linearly delineate all of the important forms throughout the painting, with a high degree of detail. All the important decisions about placement, shape, and structure are made in this stage.

Note that you must be able to draw accurately for this to work. Then again, if you can’t draw well, there isn’t really much point to trying to paint realistically.

Color Wash

The next stage is what Dennis calls the “color wash” and Tony calls the “wash in.” It involves application of diluted paint to the canvas, approximating the final color. Although Tony doesn’t mention it, Dennis emphasized that you should never use white when doing the wash in. This is a transparent application of paint in a manner similar to watercolor, in that the lights are generated by the white of the canvas. The entire canvas is covered in the wash-in, so that virtually none of of it ends up pure white. While the level of detail is not as high as in the final painting, the wash-in gets pretty detailed. In his demo, Tony says this:

The wash-in helps solve many of the problems that we would otherwise encounter if we were to paint a finished painting directly on white canvas. One such problem has to do with knowing whether or not the colors we’re applying to the painting are indeed the ones we want. Colors, by themselves, are never right or wrong. They can only be judged in their tonal context, i.e., in the painting itself. That context is never fully realized until the painting is done. Consequently, while the painting is in progress there is always a degree of uncertainty involved in the choice of colors. However, we can take steps to lessen the degree of uncertainty.

Form Painting

Dennis also calls this “painting opaquely.” Over the color wash, you start in one area and slowly create the final appearance of the picture. You can now begin to use white, which is part of what makes this stage opaque (you also stop diluting the paint to a watery consistency). This is called a “window shade” technique because you attempt to create the final appearance of one area of the painting, move to an adjacent area, do the same thing, and continue. The painting appears slowly, as if pulling up a window shade. The procedure is therefore basically a direct painting method, applied over the wash-in (which has dried very quickly because it was applied so thinly). It may take many days to complete the painting, but each section is finished before you move on to the next. (Corrections are allowed, of course, but the goal is to not have to do any.)


This is not how I actually paint nowadays, although there are strong similarities. I am often too lazy to do a poster study, although it would be a good idea. My underdrawings are usually done in paint, not charcoal. I almost always tone the surface rather than paint on a white ground. Because I don’t like to dilute paint to that degree (I am concerned about its technical soundness), I don’t do a color wash. I do at times deliberately work in layers rather than directly.

This is an effective way to paint realistically, however, and I may go back to these roots more over time.


Update

30 November 2008: I should also note the strong opposition to working from photos that proponents of this approach espouse. All work is done from life or from the imagination, never with mechanical aids and never from photos. I myself find photos to be pretty bad sources of information to use for realist art, although I am not nearly so opposed as Jacobs and his direct students are to “cheating.”

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In comments, Julius writes:

David: In the beautiful work you show on your gallery, are most of the effects achieved with your “thick glazing” technique? I have been experimenting with thin glazes and have run into problems at every turn. For example: How to achieve an intense red or orange, since cadmium colors are out? How to glaze thinly and be able to do fabrics and tablecloths - especially in light colors? How to do a light color ceramic bowl (as in one of yours)? Maybe you could speak in detail about the work in your gallery…

Thanks for the kind words, Julius. Glazing is not my primary oil painting technique.* I tend to paint fairly opaquely most of the time, attempting to achieve the final look of each passage before moving to the next. I’m not dogmatic about that, however, and will go back over a passage, opaquely or transparently, if I didn’t get it right the first time.

I do use glazing for specific purposes. For example, the background of the self portrait in the gallery is yellow ochre glazed over white. Although YO is usually thought of as rather dull, its undertone has a very different character—much higher in chroma and value. That’s one great use of glazing: to avoid “chalkiness” (lowered chroma) at high values.

As far as intense red or orange, here’s how that was done historically. Start by painting that specific passage in a flat opaque color similar to your desired final hue. For example, you could use cadmium red light (historically, this would have been vermilion, which behaves similarly to cad red). Let it dry. Then glaze over it with a similar transparent color such as alizarin crimson (which is fugitive) or pyrol ruby (which is not). Make this second color thick where you want it dark and thin where you want midtones or lights. If desired, paint into the lights with the same or similar colors mixed with white. Let it dry. If the darks are not dark enough, apply another layer of glaze to those areas, perhaps darkened with another transparent color such as ultramarine blue. Over two or three layers, you can get the darks as strong as you like, in a higher chroma than you can get without glazing. I’ve tried this, and it works. For orange, you are limited in glazing colors, but hansa yellow mixed with any of the modern transparent organic reds or crimsons can work.

Does this method allow you to get any color you wish? No, it does not. You are limited to available shades of transparent pigments. But the Old Masters were even more limited, and they didn’t make junk.

As for fabrics, this method works quite well if you have the patience for it. Be prepared to go back into the lights, while the glaze layer is still wet, with opaque colors mixed with white.

Ceramics are easy. For a white ceramic glazed with blue, just paint the object without the blue and allow to dry. Ultramarine or other semi-transparent blues glazed on top are quite convincing (that’s how I did the ceramic cup in the “Three Cherries” painting in my gallery).

This would be easier to show than to tell, but I hope this is helpful.


*In part that’s due to the influence of my teacher, Dennis Cheaney. Dennis is a student of Ted Set Jacobs, who long ago rejected glazing in his own painting method, because he believes it makes it more difficult to precisely control hue, value, and chroma. I don’t paint the same way that Dennis and Ted do (nor nearly as well), but the vast majority of my formal instruction has been in a direct painting style.

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Wipe

So tonight I’m working on my “White Shirt” painting. I spend a good hour on the most detailed part of the piece—the hangar hook and its shadow. I do a really nice job, with small brushes, getting each curve and the flash of metal just right. Detailed, but not too fussy. Then I step back.

I’ve made an error. The hook is too small. It looks almost right, but not quite.

I sit for a minute, then take a rag dipped in turps and wipe it off the painting. You need to be willing to do that sometimes, just as an author needs to be able to delete a wondrous chapter that just doesn’t work with the rest of the novel. If it’s not right, it has to go, no matter how much you like it.

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My former art teacher, Dennis Cheaney, is a realist painter and a student of Ted Seth Jacobs. I learned a lot from Dennis and wish I could still study with him. He conceptualized the process of oil painting in several ways, one of which has really stuck with me.

Generally, when rendering form, you mix up various colors of paint and put them into the right places on the surface of the painting. I like to use natural bristle and synthetic flats for this. Some artists stop there and get a certain kind of stylized look. But in the academic realist tradition, there is another step, which Dennis calls “shaping the light.”

For this you use a dry soft brush. Not a fan blender, which is too wide for the kind of focused work we’re talking about here. Shaping the light involves slowly and delicately adjusting each patch of paint to conform to the way that light falls across it. How does the light flow across a forearm, for example? What is the rate of gradation? Is there a sharp change in value as the light moves from one form to another, or is it gradual? What is the shape of each patch of light as it flows from one passage to another? How hard or soft is each edge, at each point? As you work across each section, you stroke, clean the brush with a rag, stroke, and continue. If you need the color to be exceptionally clean, then you might switch to a fresh brush to avoid contamination while shaping. This process is more than just blending, which you can do without really even looking at the subject. It requires just as much observation as you need when applying paint.

Dennis suggested taking about half the time you spend in mixing and applying paint, and about half in shaping the light. You can do that in two discrete stages in a session, or move back and forth between one mode and the other. Either way, you develop a sensitivity to light and a sense of how to convincingly render form. Dennis is far better at this than I am, but I am starting to get a sense for how to do it correctly.

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Here’s what I’m working on now. “White shirt,” oil on panel, 20 × 16”.

White Shirt

I messed up the right sleeve. As was painfully obvious the next day, but somehow didn’t hit me at the time, the shadow color in the right sleeve is too green and too low in chroma. (This may not be clear in the photo you are looking at, as these are fairly subtle color distinctions.) Shadows elsewhere are in the orange and yellow range, assisted by the earth red tone I had applied on top of the glue-chalk gesso primer. My plan is to let let that section dry completely while I work on the rest, glaze the shadows with transparent yellow oxide and transparent red oxide, and work into that base in order to correct the color.

Other than that, I like it so far, which is rare for me at this point in a painting. It still needs a bunch of fabric detail and the hangar needs to be painted in, but it’s basically progressing well.

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"Vision of a Knight" (after Raphael)

I did this a couple of years ago. It’s a copy of a small panel painting by Raphael (6.7 × 6.7 inches) at the original size. Wikipedia says this about it (the original, of course):

The Vision of a Knight or The Dream of Scipio or Allegory is a small egg tempera painting on poplar by the Italian Renaissance artist Raphael, finished in 1504. It is in the National Gallery in London. It probably formed a pair with the Three Graces panel, also 17 cm square, now in the Chateau de Chantilly museum.

The theme is controversial. Some authorities intend the sleeping knight to represent the Roman general Scipio Africanus (236-184 BC) who was dreaming to choose between Virtue (behind whom is a steep and rocky path) and Pleasure (in looser robes). However, the two feminine figures are not presented as contestants. They may represent the ideal attributes of the knight: the book, sword and flower which they hold suggest the ideals of scholar, soldier and lover which a knight should combine.

I did it in egg tempera with oil glazes. More recent analysis by the National Gallery indicates that the original was actually an oil painting. Although it is by no means a perfect copy, I am mostly satisfied, as I think I managed to capture some portion of the sweetness of Raphael’s early work.

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